


Too Real

by golden_redhead



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: (they were together before the game and they're now trying to pick up where they left off), Affection, Angst, Depression, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt, Established Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, Intimacy, M/M, Oma Kokichi-centric, Post-Canon, Post-Game(s), Saioumota Week 2019, Virtual Reality, tagged as M for safety it's all implied tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 01:27:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20958167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/golden_redhead/pseuds/golden_redhead
Summary: Kokichi remains pliant beneath their hands. He lets them shift and bend his body however they want, lets them turn him into something he’s not. Something less dead. Less rotten.





	Too Real

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was an organizer of Saioumota Week 2019 and I finally managed to finish one of my prompts. Better late than never, right?

It’s so easy for Kaito and Shuichi to fall back into old habits. Too easy.

He remembers, vaguely, what they had before the game. Maybe he could have forgotten, pretended it’s some horrid illusion his brain conjured in order to torment him further. However, when Kaito and Shuichi take him back to their old apartment it’s impossible to act as if the past never happened, no matter how tempting it is. They are all here - in the photos lined up on the shelf next to the TV they used to watch Danganronpa on, in the three pairs of worn out toothbrushes he finds in the claustrophobically small bathroom, in the three matching mugs he has a distant memory of buying during some convention or maybe festival Shuichi dragged them to, Monokuma’s vicious red eye gleaming at him from one of them. 

It’s all too real. 

Being with them is unbearable. But it’s when the night stretches over the surrounding buildings, the first stars popping out from its dark expanse, where they become especially affectionate that is the true agony. 

They both focus all their attention on him, kissing, nibbling, pulling him closer with some kind of urgent, sweet desperation until their bodies press against each other and his hair spills over the pillow like a dark halo, framing his pale face and doe-like eyes, staring at the ceiling with unseeing eyes as they continue to press feather-like kisses and empty promises against his skin. 

He remains pliant beneath their hands. He lets them shift and bend his body however they want, lets them turn him into something he’s not. Something less dead. Less rotten. 

And Kokichi hates it, he hates it with every fiber of his body, but he still allows it, touches burning wherever they leave an imprint of their love on his skin, a silent promise of things he shouldn’t have. 

Shuichi’s awkwardness lingers even months since they escaped their pixelated cage, a faint hint of anxiety never quite gone from his movements. But he’s sure now, exploring Kokichi’s body, letting his hands roam without a trace of shame or hesitancy. He’s all soft around the edges, pressing butterly-light kisses to Kokichi’s stomach, one hand caressing the bony curve of his hip, the other one reaching to brush against his face, slim fingers tangled in Kokichi’s hair, tugging gently at the curling tips. He murmurs sweet nothings into his skin, the tickle of his breath making Kokichi squirm and shiver. It’s the side of Shuichi he’s never got to see before, the side reserved for the few people that managed to sneak into his heart and earn his love. This is how he knows it’s not real, it could never be real. He’s never done anything to be deserving of his love, killing or squashing or belittling everything and everyone he’s ever hold dear. 

But if Shuichi is bad then Kaito is even worse. 

Kaito’s considerate, so awfully and disgustingly considerate, and Kokichi wishes he could scream, wishes he could slip out of his embrace, as it is as sweet as it is suffocating. His grip on him is strong and sure, almost bordering on forceful but never crossing the line, much to Kokichi’s disappointment. But it’s the way he looks at him that is the worst, all warm smiles and eyes brimming with such disgusting affection that Kokichi finds himself averting his eyes, a sick nauseous feeling swirling at the pit of his stomach.

Kaito’s always been so disgustingly  _ honest _ about his emotions, unable to mask them and rarely bothering to at least try, leaving it all out there in the open. In a strange way, it makes Kokichi feel vulnerable. Exposed. As if Kaito’s tugging at some old scab that couldn’t quite heal and threatens to make it bleed all over, poking at the wound that should be nothing but a distant memory. 

The line between what they shared in the past and this strange dependency that brought them back together is smudged and unclear. The memories are all there but when he tries to reach them they appear blurry and disintegrated, and he finds himself gritting his teeth in frustration and tugging at his messy hair with enough strength to pull it all out. There’s enough evidence to prove that once, in a different world, in a different life, maybe there was love, there was care. If he squeezes his eyes shut hard enough he can almost remember these alternate days. But then he snaps them open and there is blood on his hands and blood on his conscience - ugly vibrant pink he sees everywhere he looks. 

He wonders when they’ll realize it’s hopeless, wonders how much does it have to take for them to realize that for him there’s no coming back. He’s crossed the point of no return one time too many and deep down — under the heavy layers of denial — the two of them must know it, too. 

He lets them love him, because he knows it’s for them more than it is for him, a voiceless reassurance that he’s here, that he’s no longer just a couple of pixels bleeding all over the screen just as they are no longer defined by their roles, be it hero or martyr or victim. The difference is, they always were the heroes of the game he so desperately tried to win, leaving him a corrupt to the core villain designed to die a pitiful death, a perfect end to his equally pitiful existence. As long as he remembers that, he won’t be tempted to stay, won’t have any stupid ideas to delude himself into thinking that whatever it is between them could be real, that whatever it is could last. He lets them pretend to love him, tilts his head to the side giving easier access when Shuichi’s lips brush against his neck, arches his back when Kaito’s calloused fingers dig into the dip of his hips. 

“I love you, too,” he would recite obediently against their lips, lie through his teeth when their expectant stares become too much to handle, lie like the rotten liar he is. Lies are the only thing he can offer them in exchange for whatever it is that they mistake for love. 

Kaito’s calloused fingers caressing the pale skin of his chest, right where his heart is supposed to be, Shuichi’s stuttering breath ghosting over his ear as they snuggle closer during long sleepless nights and suffocate him with love he does not deserve... It’s a special kind of hell. 

He quietly squirms out of their embrace, careful not to wake them, and then tip toes out of their shared bedroom and to the big closet that stands in the hallway. Shushing at the noisy, old unoiled doors harshly, he opens it and then squeezes his small form between the vacuum cleaner and a bunch of old jackets, the musty smell of dust tickling at his nose. The position is far from comfortable, the tube of the vacuum cleaner poking painfully at his ribs, his neck bent awkwardly so he could rest his cheek against the furry collar of Kaito’s old winter coat.

It’s not ideal but it’s quiet and far enough from their loving hands and worried eyes, away from this endless stream of love he never asked for and does not intend to accept. 

He might as well get comfortable.

Cuddling old winter clothes and Christmas ornaments stuffed at the back of the old closet, he falls asleep dreaming that by tomorrow Kaito and Shuichi will realize this is going nowhere and ask him to leave.

It’s okay if they don’t, though.

He can be patient. He can wait until they realize he’s just like these old coats and dusty decorations — redundant. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, that was kinda angsty but if you know me then you know that I never get tired of Virtual Reality post-game angst. Also, I personally struggle with many things Kokichi does in this fic, so wow, it was really nice to vent a little. 
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are very appreciated & thank you for reading!


End file.
